


Amor del Bueno

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Accidents & hospitals, Art critic!Benedict, Artist!Henry, Gallery owner!Benedict, Klimt the corgi, Lord Wetherby’s name is Andrew, M/M, love at second sight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28977336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: I recently went through a heartbreak and, as you may know, the last thing you want to listen to are love songs. Sooo, as I was exercising my pain away my Spotify decided to pop up the fucking love song that names this fic and which I hadn’t heard in like 15 years.As I listened I imagined three scenes with these guys but I only wrote the first one. I may, or may not, write the other two. That will depend on your response on this first one. Because honestly? I’m starting to doubt if I’m any good at this writting thing.Also, in case you haven’t, go read ‘Oils on Canvas’ by sospes. Because even when I was terribly rude in a comment the fic is amazing and I do love it.So yeah, enjoy
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently went through a heartbreak and, as you may know, the last thing you want to listen to are love songs. Sooo, as I was exercising my pain away my Spotify decided to pop up the fucking love song that names this fic and which I hadn’t heard in like 15 years. 
> 
> As I listened I imagined three scenes with these guys but I only wrote the first one. I may, or may not, write the other two. That will depend on your response on this first one. Because honestly? I’m starting to doubt if I’m any good at this writting thing. 
> 
> Also, in case you haven’t, go read ‘Oils on Canvas’ by sospes. Because even when I was terribly rude in a comment the fic is amazing and I do love it. 
> 
> So yeah, enjoy

There’s something soothing about drawing in a park; the laughter of children, the quaking of ducks splashing in the lake and the pounding of feet on pavement, the wind through the trees. All this creates an idilic atmosphere for art. 

In melancholy days, and one as an artist has many of those, he enjoys coming here and indulge in some old- fashioned people sketching. He just chooses a focus -point and lets his hand wander. 

Right now he’s endeavored in drawing a little girl playing with a dog. It’s always a delight to draw children and nature motifs; there’s something magical in the way they are so open with their emotions, there is never any pretense and capturing that is so refreshing. 

An alert from his phone breaks him out of his mindstate. Remember the opening at 8pm, reads the reminder. 

Henry sighs, dragging a hand down his face, coming back to reality. It’s a good thing Lucy insisted he set up these alarms to remind him of important events; not that he is forgetful, it’s just that when he gets in the ‘zone’ he tends to... ignore there is a world beyond his art. 

Henry packs his supplies into his satchel and stands from the bench he’d been sitting on for the past... however long it’s been. He promised Lucy he would let her choose his wardrobe for the event and even do his hair. So yeah, he better not be late. 

He’s started to make his way to the exit when there is a buzz from his phone; in the moment he turns to rummage through his bag for it there is a bark and a yelp and before he knows he is falling all over some poor soul and then they’re onto the grass. 

There are wide, astonished eyes staring up at him and warm hands bracing his hips. Because of course they had to go land themselves in a compromising position. 

Though Henry isn’t complaining, the man is beautiful. 

Look at those cheekbones and those eyes, which the light is hitting just right, making them sparkle... Henry would love to paint him. 

Something like recognition flashes through the man’s eyes. "Do I know you?" he asks hesitantly. 

Henry can’t so much as open his mouth when there is a tongue pushing against his lips and a wet nose nudge his cheek, not the kind he likes, and he splutters. He tries to escape the attack by bowing his head, forgetting he has hands he can use to defend himself. 

Before anything else, there comes a bellow of ‘Klimt!’ that has his wished model twisting his head to see what’s it all about. The girl Henry had been sketching is pulling at a blonde young woman that doesn’t look too thrilled with that. 

Thankfully the noise gets the attention of the animal, that turns out to be a dog, who peels off with a happy bark and Henry can breathe again. 

"What is it, Hyacinth?" the man calls out, then looks back at Henry, who is still stradling him. "Ah," he flounders for a second, looking at their predicament, seemingly not knowing what to say, or how to say it. 

Henry gets the memo and scrambles to his feet. "Sorry," he says, offering a hand to the young man. 

"Don’t worry about it," the other answers, smiling thankfully when he’s pulled onto his feet. 

"Still, I’m sorry," because that’s what you do when you’ve stradled a stranger in a park for longer than is proper. He takes a step back and would have toppled down again if it weren’t for a hand holding his elbow. "What the-" he looks down to discover his feet are tangled in the leash of the very corgi he’d drawn with the little girl and had just tried to french-kiss him. 

"Oh shite," the man exclaims. "Let me," he kneels down to get him free. "Come on, Klimt," he coos. "I’m sorry, he normally doesn’t do that with strangers," he says, staring up at Henry while still kneeling next to the oblivious pet. 

"Don’t worry about it." Henry dismisses. "I love dogs."

He locks eyes with the stranger and god Henry would love to- 

The dog yips and pompously walks towards the man, who Henry hopes it’s the owner, as the girl and young woman catch up with them. The girl immediately lets go of the woman’s hand to pet the dog. 

"You weren’t supposed to let go of him, Cinth," the man chides. 

The girl pouts up at him. "It wasn’t my fault," she cries, the dog immediately sfarts licking her face to soothe her, she giggles and Henry’s heart swells with fondness. 

Meanwhile, the woman is giving Henry the stink eye. "What are you, a pervert?" she spits. 

Henry raises an eyebrow because sriously?? "No, ma’am-" he starts. 

"Valery-" the man also starts. 

But the woman doesn’t let him continue and instead whirls on him. "What?" she bites out. "I mean, he seemed to be drooling all over you, Benedict, for fuck’s sake," she shrills. 

Wait, Benedict? Oh. 

Said man gives the woman a look, pointedly clearing his throat to remind her of the child present. Who is absorbed in doggie love still. 

Henry takes the opportunity to get himself out of there because there is only one Benedict he knew and he well as hell wouldn’t want to get reacquainted with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Amor del Bueno. 

Henry is loath to admit he runs all the way to his apartment. He is 40 years old, for Christ’s sake, he can handle himself better in that sort of... awkward situations. 

Also, what if that man wasm’t the Benedict he knew? 

But what if he was?

Well, he is mature enough to handle that, too. 

Why did he run, then?

I mean, their sting happened some 6-7 years ago, who is to say the man remembers anyway?

Be it as it may, his encounter with the man in the park settled something inside him that had spent years rattling around his heart. 

Ever since Andrew...

"Darling, is that you?" Lucy’s voice brings him back to the present. 

"Who else could it be, dearest?" he retorts with a smirk. 

Lucy appears in the hall before him clad in a blue robe and pink slippers, her hair cascading around her head. She raises an eyebrow. "Are you alright?" she asks. 

Henry sighs, pushes away from the door and enters the apartment proper. "I think so," he says unconvincingly, sighs again, cards a hand through his hair and tugs. "I think I bumped into Benedict Bridgerton in the park today," he admits. 

Lucy’s eyes go wide and takes a few steps forward. "The critic who nearly ruined your career?" she says, her eyes flash. 

Henry scoffs. "He didn’t nearly ruin it," he assures but then he defleats a little with a sigh. "But yeah, him."

Lucy’s eyes soften. "Oh dear, did he recognize you?"

He walks towards the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water and leans against the counter as he drinks it. "Maybe? I don’t know," he says doubtfully, remembering the flash of recognition and the question. "He didn’t show it, if he did." 

She huffs, shaking her head. "Alright then," she brightens, "today you will go shine in this opening and forget about this."

Henry smiles though still feels uneasy. "You’re right," he says effecting cheerfulness, "as always," he adds teasingly. 

Lucy ignores the teasing and smiles smugly. "As you well know, dear. Now," she claps once and approaches him to take his hand, "time to get ready," and starts pulling them to his room with a wicked smile. 

Henry already regrets agreeing to let her dress him. 

-

Alterart Gallery is housed in a modern building downtown. It’s a two-story building with floor-to-ceiling windows in the second story that let in the light, probably those are the studios. It’d be lovely to paint in one. 

The first story is a concrete structure with a smoked-glass door and a banner on the wall next to it that reads ‘Welcome!’ 

It looks imposing. 

Henry is, for whatever reason, nervous. He is dressed ‘casually smart’ in dark trousers with a navy-blue button-down and a burgundy waistcoat and god, he misses a tie to fidget with. 

But he’s an adult and he will tackle this as such. Besides, it isn’t his first rodeo. So why in Heaven’s sake he feels like fidgeting?

All the artists convocated were asked to bring their best painting to expose and the ones that garner the most points earn a permanent spot in the catalogue. So yeah, maybe his nerves are somewhat justified. 

He shows his invite to the person in the door and follows a young woman who is politely showing him to his spot. 

"This is you, sir," she announces cheerfully. "Once you’ve setup you are free to walk around but come back to it by 10 so we can make the final rounds and announce who keeps their place."

He inclines his head with a smile. "Thank you," he says. "I’ll be sure to do so."

She smiles too. "My name is Marina Thompson, if you need me," and with that she skips off to lead someone else. 

Henry turns to study the space meant for his piece and then to the frame in his hand, peeking through the cloth covering it. He pondered for hours about which painting to bring; he has many he’s certain would secure him the permanence of exposition. But he had to choose this one for the sentimental value and because it is, if he can say so himself, beautiful. 

It’s one of his first paintings, one inspired by someone he loved. It’s a painting of their eyes, which were most intriguing and gorgeous; a sort of turquoise in the outer rim, then there’s gray and purple and yellow before the pupil and they simply deserved a portrait. 

If he has a painting that deserves a place in a gallery then it is this one. 

They, however, hadn’t lived long enough to see it finished and it had been painful for him to complete it. 

Henry takes a fortifying breath, uncovers and hangs it. 

He stares at it for a moment before nodding to himself and goes to find the bar. 

It’s about 9:30 and he has watched in amusement how three people have made total fools of themselves trying to flirt with Marina Thompson who, even Henry can admit, is really stunning and without a doubt can do so much better than any of them, for the past 20 minutes. 

After 40 minutes of walking around, exploring and studying the other pieces, he’d found a nice nook to settle against and observe it all. He has mingled with some of his fellow artists, like a mexican woman named Liliana who has a symbolist streak and is reinventing Greek myths in her work, or Alexei, whose nationality isn’t that clear, likes to reinvent biblical myths. 

He’s seen some interesting pieces; like the painting named ‘Minotaur’ that portrays half the face of a human and half of a bull’s and another in charcoal that depicts the archangel Michael, wings unfolded, on his knees holding a fallen Lucifer in his arms. Interesting indeed. 

Though it should be expected, considering their artists are quite interesting themselves. 

Henry looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid around. He probably should have brought Lucy with him because she always has running comentary and that always makes these events easier. But she’s got her own thing so he wasn’t going to ask her. She would have come, he knows but that would have made him feel selfish. 

"Mr. Granville," a voice, that despite the years he hasn’t forgotten, brings him out of his reverie. "It’s been a long time, don’t you think?"

Henry’s snaps his head up. "Lady Danbury," he greets politely. 

She rolls her eyes, making a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Please, it has been a long time since I was your teacher," her eyes twinkle. "You can call me Audrey."

He smirks. "Will you call me Henry, then?" he asks already knowing the answer. 

"Absolutley not," she gasps out. 

Henry chuckles. "Didn’t think so."

"I must admit I was surprised to see you back in England and that you accepted the invitation to participate in the gallery’s opening," she considers him carefully. "Considering your-" but there is a shrilled ‘Audrey!" coming from somewhere in the front that has her rolling her eyes. "If you excuse me, it seems that these people can’t do anything on their own," she smiles her secretive smile, the one that makes you feel that she knows something you don’t. "I will be seeing you, Mr. Granville."

And with one last twinkling look, she disappears into the crowd. Leaving Henry wanting to hear the rest of what she was going to say. 

"I hope she wasn’t setting you up for another unpleasant critique," a voice interrupts his cavilations. 

Henry’s breath catches as he turns to the side and sure enough, there he stands. The guy at the park. 

"Bridgerton?" he asks, almost scared. 

Benedict Bridgerton, looking sheepish, walks closer to him. "I knew you were familiar though I wasn’t sure from where," he chuckles softly, "and when I remembered why I almost wish I hadn’t," he lowers his head, huffing a little laugh. 

Henry raises an eyebrow. "Why would you want to do that?" he feigns ignorance, wanting to see what his answer would be. 

Benedict sighs, grabbing a flute of champagne and wets his lips in it. "My less than gracious critique?"

Henry hums. "I don’t know, I rather enjoyed the stings of your critique. Besides," he smiles, "that piece was not one of my best works."

Benedict throws him a hopeful look. "Can we consider this a restart, then?"

Henry studies him for a moment before offering a hand. "Fine by me," he agrees. 

Benedict shakes his hand, beaming. "And by me." 

They stare into each other’s eyes; neither seam to want to let go, entranced in each other’s souls. Both feeling something slotting into place, something they yet not know what but it feels right. 

It feels-

"Mr. Bridgerton." Marina is hurrying towards them, an excited expression in her face and a paper clutched in a hand. Her approach makes them jump apart, surprised. How long had they been holding hands for? "Here are the results," she beams as she tends the paper to him. 

Benedict takes a sip of his drink to hide his startled expression and smiles at her, accepting it. "I guess it’s time to see who gets the permanence, then," he says, unfolding the paper. "Ha, Audrey will be pleased," he stops almost reaching the end and throws Henry an enigmatic look. "She will indeed."

-

Henry stares at the blank page on his sketchbook, meditating. Who would have thought he would end up working in Benedict Bridgerton’s gallery? 

Apparently his painting had been well liked therefor highly ranked. 

Audrey Danbury was indeed please when the six names were announced and his had had been among them, along Liliana and Alexei. 

He can’t deny he had been, as well. And not just because of what this means for his career. 

He’s not going to say it had been love at first sight meeting Benedict for the first time because it hadn’t really been. Attraction, deffinitely. Interest, absolutley. 

Love though. ..

Back then Henry wasn’t in the best of places emotionally speaking. He was nursing a broken heart so no, Lucy, it wasn’t love at first sight. 

Maybe that is also part of the reason why the criticism to his work had hit particularly hard. Because he was already hurting. 

No sense in thinking about it now though. 

Henry sighs and turns to the nightstand so he can change charcoal for pencil and try to sketch. 

He stares at the blank page again and lets the pencil lead his hand; the contour of a face, the profile of a nose, a pair of lips, eyes and eyebrows and-

Oh. Oh no. 

Is this what love at second sight is like? 

Because that in the paper is just a drawing and yet his heart is racing. Like it had raced when he held Benedict’s hand.


End file.
